


cure for the soul

by sternchencas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Asthma, Blindness, M/M, Sick!Dean, Soulmate AU, blind!cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-05-01 14:49:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5209946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sternchencas/pseuds/sternchencas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Castiel meet on a bus and find out that having a disability doesn't mean your life is over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	cure for the soul

Since Dean Winchester has been diagnosed with asthma, his whole life went to shit. He’s not even sure why. Whenever he thinks about it, there’s the picture of his doctor in his mind, handing him an inhaler and telling him to take it easy. Oh, and that he should find another job.

Apparently Dean is allergic to some shit that’s unavoidable when you repair cars. His brother Sam explained it to him in detail after he did a shitload of research on how Dean might be able to keep doing what he loves. The thing is, he didn’t find anything.

Dean ends up as the freaking secretary at ‘Singer’s Autoshop’, making coffee and everything. He should be delighted, but talking about repairing cars and getting your hands dirty are two very different things.

Every car that leaves the shop without him even being near it seems to take a little bit of Dean’s vigor with it. He starts drinking, stays home alone, and just stops giving a fuck.

His friends and family try to help him of course. They go on about all the other things he can still do, things he could learn, and how much life still has to offer him. He might win the lottery or find his soul mate. He just has to put himself out there; as if being active and enjoying life doesn’t get a lot harder when one of your biggest problems is breathing.

Today is a particularly bad day for Dean. It’s foggy and cold. It already fucked him up pretty bad in the morning, but when he leaves work, it gets even worse. Walking from the warmth of the office out to the cold outside triggers his asthma pretty bad.

He gets some sympathetic looks when he gets on the bus while sucking on his inhaler, but that doesn’t exactly help his problem. He flops himself in the first seat, so focused on hating everything that he doesn’t notice the guy who follows him inside.

At least, until he stops next to Dean. “Is this seat taken?”

Dean has the 'Beat it!’ already on his tongue, but swallows it when he sees the white stick the guy is holding. Together with the dark glasses, he’s wearing, his appearance paints a clear picture why he’s asking for the seat next to the door.

“No, man, go ahead.” Dean scoots over to give the stranger more room and watches him tugging his trench coat closer to himself before he sits down.

“Thank you.”

Dean’s answer is a simple nod, and it takes him a minute of staring out of the window until he realizes how stupid that was; the guy can’t see him after all. From one second to the other he’s so embarrassed that blood rushes to his head, and his chest feels tight again.

The stranger tilts his head and turns slightly in Dean’s direction. “Are you okay?”

Instead of replying, Dean shakes his inhaler and takes another hit. He wishes he could answer right away instead of more silence, but he’s got to hold his breath for a moment, or the medicine won’t work. Turns out he doesn’t need to say anything.

“Asthma I presume?” Turning his head back, the guy just waits, and Dean takes his time with getting his breathing under control.

“Yes. It gets worse, you know, with the rain and the cold.”

He stops himself from saying more. After all, the guy isn’t here for his sob story. The stranger seems interested, though. He turns to Dean again, holding the position for a moment as if he could see him, and drops his head. “I’m sorry.”

Dean huffs a laugh. “No offense, but between the two of us, I’m the lucky one.”

“Are you sure? At least I only have to listen to you.”

Wow, sassy. Dean can’t help but smile. “I’m sorry to tell you that, but you’re missing out. I’m fucking gorgeous.”

The stranger shrugs, a small smile playing around his lips. “Well then, maybe you are the lucky one.”

They fall silent after that, and Dean stares out of the window again. At least, he tries. Once in a while, he glances at the other man, weirdly intrigued. Even with his eyes hidden behind the glasses, he’s gorgeous. And there’s something about him, Dean just can’t put his finger on it.

He’s so caught up in thinking about it that he doesn’t notice how the stranger turns to him again. “I’m sorry, do we know each other?”

Dean shakes his head and immediately rolls his eyes at himself. “No, um, I don’t think so.”

The guy’s brows furrow behind his glasses. “Is there another reason you keep staring at me?” Shit. Obviously, Dean is so not sneaky that even the blind guy notices. He wants to reply, but the other man keeps talking, understanding what’s on Dean’s mind. “Just ask if you have a question.”

“Have you always been blind?” The words just shoot out of him. Somehow the disability of the other man made him think about his sickness. Has this guy always been living like that, or does he know a life before it?

“No. I was ill. The blindness has just been a side effect, but it stayed after I recovered.”

“So when did you-?” It’s bad enough that Dean asked at all. He stops himself from asking another insensitive question, but again, he gets an answer.

“March 14th, 2012.” It’s like being hit in the face by a truck. This time, it’s not asthma that collapses Dean’s lungs, but the shock. He coughs and swallows hard, bringing the stranger to raising an eyebrow at him. “Did I say something wrong?”

“I’m sorry, it’s just-” He takes a deep breath, trying to remember how that felt before March 2012. “That’s the day I got my diagnoses.”

The other man lifts both eyebrows now, his lips forming a circle of surprise. “Oh.”

“Yeah, creepy coincidence, right?”

“Indeed, it is.”

They stay silent for another moment, and of course, Dean can’t keep his mouth shut. Weird thoughts are racing through his mind, and he has to get them out. “Maybe it’s not - a coincidence -, I mean. Maybe we’re supposed to save the world or something. Like superheroes.”

The other man laughs. It’s a nice sound. Deep and genuine, like thunder. “We’d make a great team. You guide me to the people we’re supposed to save, and I remind you to use your inhaler.”

Dean smiles but finds himself disagreeing. “Hey, our abilities might be a little restricted, but we’re not dead, right?”

When the words are out, he feels like a massive weight is lifted from his shoulders. Over the last four years, he slowly killed himself and didn’t care about it. Now he understands that he’s been hiding from himself. He wants to live, or he would have ended it back then. It’s just so much easier to lie down and let the pain wash over you than standing up and facing it head on.

The stranger lifts his hand, moving it amazingly precise in Dean’s direction. “At least, let me introduce myself before we fight crime together. I’m Castiel.”

“Dean.”

He takes the man’s hand, and time stops. Dean can’t breathe, his heart standing still. For just a split second, he’s not himself anymore. It’s like seeing the two of them from the outside, and they’re just one being. For the first time in years, Dean feels whole again.

It’s dark and silent, like being under water, but Dean makes it to the surface and takes a deep breath. A breath so free and clear, it frightens him. He takes another, feeling the air rushing into him, blowing up his lungs, giving him life, and floating out again like a soft breeze. March 14th, 2012, something in him died. Today, he’s reborn.

Castiel lets go of his hand but tilts his head. “Your breathing, it sounds a lot better now.”

“Yes it-” He can’t finish the sentence. From one second to the other, Castiel freezes in place. He’s been good with turning in Dean’s direction, but now he faces him head on, a mask of terror on his face. Dean leans forward, worried now. “Are you okay?”

Castiel doesn’t answer. Instead, he slowly lifts his hand and takes off his glasses. Dean’s not surprised that his eyes fit perfectly with the rest of him. They’re light blue and shining, but what frightens Dean are the tears that are welling up in them. “Seriously man, is something wrong?”

“I can-” Castiel swallows like he’s the one who can’t breathe now. “I can see you.”

Dean should probably say something. Anything. But what the hell do you say to that?

“Hey, lovebirds! This is the last stop; you have to get off.” The bus driver turns around to them, and without thinking, Dean helps Castiel up from his seat and pushes him forward.

They end up under a flickering light near the bus stop, Dean freely breathing in the cold air, and Castiel looking around, his eyes wide with wonder. Dean has still no idea what to say to him. Again, it’s Castiel who speaks first. He turns to Dean, staring into his eyes again, and smiles. “You were right. You are fucking gorgeous.”

Dean laughs. Loud, unrestrained, the intensity of it forcing him to bend over. He hasn’t laughed like this for years.

For the rest of the night, they sit on a park bench together, not caring that you don’t hold hands with a stranger. At 1 am Dean starts to sing. He sounds like a dying cat, but at least, he has enough air for it. At 2 am Castiel names all the star constellations in the sky and tells Dean that he worked at an observatory before he went blind. At around 3 am, they move closer together, sharing body heat.

At 4 am, they start going for a walk, heading to a little diner that’s open the whole night. Half an hour later, Dean shoots milk shake out of his nose when Castiel informs him that March 14th is Steak and BJ day. It takes Castiel ten minutes to convince Dean that he’s still fucking gorgeous, even with little bubbles coming out his nose. At 5 am, Castiel almost chokes on his soda when Dean asks him to spend the next Steak and BJ day with him.

After they promised each other not to bring up any more inappropriate topics, they just talk. About their families and jobs, about favorite and hated things, about life up to this point. It gets quiet after a while, but neither of them wants to part just yet. Instead, they go for another walk. They end up on a little hill with a nice view over the quieter places outside the city. They wait there for the sun to come up, Castiel’s eyes drowning in the colors until it’s so bright that he can only see white.

 

A year later they sit on the bus again, driving to the last stop. Castiel is perfectly capable of getting off on his own, but he doesn’t mind when Dean takes his arm and guides him. He tucks his stick under his other arm and lets Dean take him to the bench nearby. The sudden cold forces Dean to use his inhaler and Castiel waits patiently for his boyfriend’s breath to return before he takes his hand again.

After a while, Castiel starts to sing. He’s got no real talent for it, but Dean likes to listen to his voice. Just like Castiel likes to listen to Dean when he starts talking about the constellations on the night sky. Over the year, he learned all of them. When they feel like it’s getting too cold, they head for their favorite diner. They stay there for hours, somehow never running out of things to talk about.

When they do, Castiel tries to draw a penis on his tray with ketchup. It looks like a winged worm, and Dean has to use his inhaler because he’s laughing so hard. To complete their ritual, they walk up their hill, waiting for the sunrise. Dean describes how the light slowly touches the different places on the ground, and names as many colors as possible.

Castiel sighs, and Dean squeezes his hand. “Do you miss the sunrise?”

“No, not really.” Castiel turns to him, a small smile on his lips. “It misses the best color anyway.”

“Yeah? Which one is that?”

“Green.”

Dean smiles but shakes his head. By now he knows that Castiel doesn’t need to see the movement to get it. “I’m sorry to tell you that, but you’re wrong. The best color is blue.”

Castiel’s smile grows wider, and Dean can’t help but stare at him. In those moments, he’s so beautiful it hurts. The words just make its way out of Dean’s mouth. “I am the lucky one.”

“Are you sure?” Castiel leans against Dean, pressing his ear against his chest. “I’m the one who can listen to you.”

Dean wraps his arms around Castiel and closes his eyes. “Well then, maybe you are the lucky one.”

Since Dean Winchester has been diagnosed with asthma, his whole life led up to this.

**Author's Note:**

> The story is a little confusing so I'm trying to explain myself. 
> 
> The prompt for it was a soulmate AU and I had this idea of two people being connected by their sickness/disability and how meeting each other would heal them. By the time I reached the point in the story where both of them get "cured", I realized my mistake. Writing the story this way would imply that this sort of healing would be the best thing that can happen to them. I understand that affected people might want just that (being healed), but I didn't want to send that message. I'm dealing with depression and I have lots of days where I wish I wouldn't have to, but it's still a part of me. I'm not less lovable, less of a person or less talented because of it. And neither are other people. 
> 
> So I went the other way. I wanted for them to have a day free of their affliction. Who wouldn't want that, right? But after that, I wanted for them to find out that they can be together and happily live their lives any way they want. They need people to see them for who they are, not based on their affliction. They are not broken. They don't need to breath better or see. What they needed was a cure for the soul (hence the title). So I tried to give them just that. I hope that clears it up ^^


End file.
